


The Adventures of Rosie Watson

by HadleeEstenLily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Dating, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, First Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, London, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes on a Case, Sherlock's Violin, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HadleeEstenLily/pseuds/HadleeEstenLily
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson continue their own journey through the streets of London, but no one knows that the city's fate hinges on one girl. . . .Rosie, an intelligent teen, is the daughter of the two most famous detectives in London.  Kept out of the spotlight and away from the press, she is a mystery to many people. But when her life becomes intertwined with a handsome young man, she suddenly finds herself at the center of her family's struggles. Caught between loyalty and freedom, obedience and rebellion, she must make her own journey and her own choices that could affect 221B Baker Street forever.With family on the line and a smart, resourceful teenager, Rosie must find the balance between her family obligations and her personal desires amid the conflicts of everyday London.





	The Adventures of Rosie Watson

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written by two best friends! This is also our first time posting something we've written together so, from us to you, please enjoy!!!

“NO she hasn’t come home yet, why would I be CALLING YOU?!” Sherlock screamed into the phone, “just get more people-“

 

“We already have EVERYONE out there! I’m the only one LEFT in this goddamn office!” 

 

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Greg, please. I am asking you- I’m asking you as a friend. Please, PLEASE come over here.”

 

Greg Lestrade sat at his desk, paperwork strewn about.  He’d been working before Sherlock called, but now his pulse raced as nervous energy began coursing through his veins. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right there,” Greg hung up the phone.  He turned off his monitor and got up, turning the light off and closing the door to the office behind him. 

 

Two blocks away, John Watson sat with his head in his hands, obviously distressed over the current situation. Over the phone, Molly tried to console him. 

 

“Molly,” he cried, “it’s half three in the bloody morning. I will not. Calm. Down!” 

 

“I need you to think. Where did you last see her?” Molly squeezed her teabag and curled up on her sofa. In the background, she heard the rattling of teacups as Mrs. Hudson bustled around her boys. 

 

“In the flat! She was in the flat, she left with William, and she told me… she  _ told  _ me she’d be back by-“ John cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Molly I’ve got to go. I have a boyfriend to kill.” 

 

“John, no. JOHN, NO! DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID! Just call her again, and if she doesn’t pick up then, and only then, can we panic.” 

 

“Yeah. Yeah alright, I’ll call you back later. Thank you, Molly, I’ll see you tomorrow,” John said as he hung up the phone. “Sherlock?! Molly says we should try her cell again.”

 

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair as he rifled through the tin on their mantle. 

 

“Sherlock this is really not the time!” John snapped.

 

“This is a five patch problem,” he stated simply.

 

“I swear to God Sherlock, I don’t care how many patches you need right now. No amount of those stupid things will fix the fact that she’s not safe in her bed!”

 

John frantically hit Rosie’s contact name and put the phone to his ear. It began to ring and John felt his heart begin to race faster.

 

“C’mon, Rosie, pickup,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Upstairs the phone buzzed on Rosie’s tidy desk. Slowly, after the third ring, it teetered on the edge of the desk before the fourth buzz brought the phone crashing to the floor.

 

Sherlock and John jumped at the clatter from upstairs.  Sherlock ran over to the door and flung it open to find Lestrade standing at the top of their flight of stairs.

“Did you hear that?” Greg asked.

 

Sherlock raced up the stairs. Opening the door softly, he called out for Rosie. He hoped against hope that she had snuck in through the alley. There was no one in the room. Everything looked just as it had when he had woken her up this morning. Her mirror had the same expo-marker notes written on it, her desk had ridiculously organized piles of class notes in folders, and her bed was made with a book sitting on top of it. 

 

_ THINK, Sherlock. Rosie is a very organized girl. She wouldn't have left this room without everything being in its place.  _ He started with her dresser. The notes on the mirror were mostly testing dates, household chores, and the date for the concert she was attending with William today. Moving on to her desk, he opened her planner only to find the same information. All her pens and pencils were in the cup in the top right corner, and the phone charger was… not there. It was always resting on top of her textbooks on the right-hand side of her desk. He bent down to reveal the charger connected to a phone with a notification on the screen that read 'five missed calls from dad’.  _ Oh, Rosie,  _ he thought to himself,  _ what have you done? _

 

He unplugged the phone and raced back downstairs, unlocking it as he went. 

 

“Lestrade!” He yelled, “can you trace a phone number?”

 

“Yeah, of course, I can. Just give it to me and I'll pass it along to Anderson.”

 

Sherlock pulled up William's number and handed the phone to the police chief. 

 

“I'll be right back,” he turned to leave, “and Sherlock? We will find her.” 

Sherlock nodded in thanks and watched Lestrade leave. He was uneasy being on the other side of the case. Usually, he was the one looking for other people's missing kids. Now, he was looking for his own. 

 

Greg began down the stairs, memorizing the phone number as he went. If he knew it and this happened again, they wouldn’t have to waste all this time.

 

“Uncle Greg? What’re you doing here?”

 

Lestrade looked up to match the face to the familiar voice.  Rosie stood there, halfway up the first flight of stairs, paused on the steps.  She wore a band tee shirt and patched jeans. A leather bag was slung over her left shoulder.

 

“Rosie?” Greg said, completely baffled that girl had returned so suddenly.  He rushed down the stairs to meet her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, brushing her face lightly with his hand.

 

“What are you… talking about?” she asked as he examined her head to toe. “I'm fine, what's going on?” Panicked thoughts began to race through her mind. “Is everyone okay?”

 

Greg sighed in relief. If she had come back with a single scratch he would've never heard the end of it from Sherlock. But his relief quickly boiled into anger.

 

“Where the HELL have you BEEN?!  We've been worried sick about you, Rosie! I mean, leaving your phone at the flat? How careless could you be!”

 

“I'm sorry-”

 

“THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! YOU’RE PARENTS HAVE BEEN WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU. MY FORCE HAS BEEN THROUGH ALL OF LONDON LOOKING FOR YOU! DO YOU have ANY IDEA how worried we've been?”

 

“I don't-”

 

“Save it,” Greg said. “You're gonna have to explain yourself to more than just me.”

 

“Actually, I better just head out again,” Rosie said, backing down a step, trying to avoid whatever conflict she'd created.

 

“Oh no you don't,” Greg said, grabbing her backpack strap and pulling her up the stairs.

  
  


Inside the flat, Sherlock paced while John still sat, head in hands.

 

“She left her phone,” he muttered.

 

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed.

 

“She left her PHONE?! HOW DO YOU FORGET YOUR PHONE!”

 

“Well John, it was plugged in so if it was, in fact, dead, it wouldn't have done her much good,” Sherlock said, trying to keep his hands from shaking, clasping and unclasping them.  Seeing logic through the stress of parenting had always been a struggle for him.

 

The door burst open and their heads whirled as they watched Lestrade march in pulling along an out of breath Rosie. 

 

At first, both men just stared at their daughter, assessing she was unhurt and okay. Mrs. Hudson walked into the room when she heard the door. Upon seeing Rosie, she dropped her tea tray as her face flushed. 

 

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU'RE IN YOUNG LADY!” She heaved a sigh, “I’m sorry dear, I’m sorry. It’s not my place to yell at you. I’m just happy you're home and safe. BUT DO YOU KNOW WHAT HELL YOU’VE PUT YOUR FATHER'S THROUGH?!” Mrs. Hudson turned and started to pick up the pieces of the broken teapot. 

 

“I’ll help with that,” Rosie said, dropping her leather bag by the door and bending down to help Mrs. Hudson.

 

John held up his hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Oh, I think you’ve done plenty young lady,” he said, voice hoarse.  He bent down to help Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock approached the young Ms. Watson.

 

“Rosie, where were you?” Sherlock said in a cold and even voice, a voice Rosie called his ‘detective voice.’

 

“I was at a concert with William.  It ended not a half hour ago.”

 

“You said the concert ended at midnight,” John said, rising from the floor as Mrs. Hudson carried the shattered dishes to the kitchen.

 

“I did say that,” she said, confirming the statement.

 

“Rosie, it’s half past two,” Sherlock said.

 

She laughed, thinking they might be joking, but nobody else laughed with her.  Her smile faded as she looked to the clock on the wall. He was right, it really had gotten that late.

 

“Oh my god,” she started, running her hands through her hair.  She looked around, embarrassed. Then her eyes land on John. His eyes were bloodshot, which means he’d been crying and he was completely drained.  Her heart dropped and guilt began to rise up in her chest. 

 

“I’m so sorry, we must’ve lost track of the time-“

 

“We,” John interrupted. “So you were with him.”  

 

It’s not a question and she knew it.  She tried to get up the courage to answer, but instead, her head dropped to her chest, eyes to the floor.

 

It was all the response John needed.  “So you go out, all night, with some  _ boy _ and, what, just neglect to inform us where you’ve been all these hours?”  His tone wasn't angry, it was deadly.

 

“We missed the stop, we got off on Fleet instead of Park.”

 

“You missed the stop,” John nodded at her slowly, “You missed the stop. Simple as that? You missed the stop after you've been RIDING THAT BLOODY TUBE AROUND LONDON FOR YOUR ENTIRE LIFE?!” 

Rosie shrank back in fear. It was rare that either of her parents yelled at her. 

 

“I know - I know, we just miscounted and then when we got off we thought we'd just walk home, and then we stopped at that sandwich place to eat and we didn't have enough money for a cab so it was a nice night and we walked home…” 

 

“THEN PLEASE, ROSAMUND. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED THE TWO OF YOU TO WALK THROUGH LONDON ALONE AT NIGHT? DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS?” 

 

Rosie felt the tears begin to well up behind her eyes. She hated disappointing her parents and she felt ashamed for not being more aware of the time, or how concerned her parents might have been.

 

Greg stood nearby, silently watching this unfold. He saw Sherlock’s mouth harden into a line as his analytic brain ticked away at the current events. He watched the vein throb in John's forehead as his face went through almost the entire color spectrum. He watched the first tears spill onto Rosie’s cheeks. 

 

“Dad I’m sorry, we just lost track of the time I swear! I swear that’s what happened. And… I’m here now, right? I’m okay.”

 

John turned away and shook his head, to angry and disappointed to say much else.  Sherlock took the opportunity to speak up. 

 

“Rosamund Mary, what would we have done if you weren’t okay? What would we have done if Lestrade had walked through that door and said that they had searched every corner of London and they couldn’t find you? Or that you were dead or kidnapped?” He looked her dead in the eyes, Mary’s eyes, and watched the pain behind them intensify. 

 

“I- I don’t know,” she whispered and looked at her shoes. 

 

“Rosamund, you are an intelligent girl. To tell me that you simply do not know is beneath you,” Sherlock snapped, his tone hardening.

 

“I honestly don’t I’m sorry!” Rosie cried, voice rising. “I don’t know what you would do because I don’t know what I would do if I lost  _ you _ !” Rosie's voice quivered at the very thought.

 

“Sherlock…” Mrs. Hudson said, surprised at the sudden aggression in his voice.

 

“That’s enough of that,” Lestrade said coolly.  “Sherlock, John, go to bed. Cool off.”

 

“Like we'll be able to sleep,” John said glaring over at Rosie.

 

Sherlock sighed, taking in a deep breath before starting in on what he had to say.  “We are all tired, we all need sleep. We can talk about this after breakfast and we will talk about this like civil people. There will be no crying,” he turned to Rosie.  “And there will be no yelling,” he finished, looking at John. “We are adults. Let’s handle ourselves as such, shall we?”

 

“She is not an adult, she’s a child, Sherlock,” John objected.

 

“She is a young woman who deserves a voice,” Sherlock argued.

 

John shook his head, “This is not a democracy, it's a dictatorship, and she's  _ my _ daughter.  She does what  _ I _ say.”

 

“Careful,” Sherlock said firmly.

 

John's jaw flexed.  Sherlock glanced over at Rosie, still checking to make sure she remained unharmed. Tension filled the room, making the air thick with apprehension.

 

“Well then, I should be headed out. The force needs to be called back in,” Greg said, breaking the silence.

Rosie's parents nodded toward him in thanks and he walked over to her, embracing her in a warm and welcomed hug.

 

“Glad you’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. Then he pulled away, handing her the phone.

 

“Thanks, Uncle Greg,” she smiled up at him and he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

 

“But no puppy eyes with me Rosie. I’m angry with you too,” He said softly. She knew that he was, but his anger was watered down with seven years of his own son, and Rosie's cousin, Jason, and his rich history of acting out. Then he turned and exited the apartment without much grace.

 

“Right. Rosie, go shower. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Sherlock said as he turned on his heel and exited the room. 

 

“Goodnight Dad,” she said to his back. 

 

She turned to John. “Dad I-“

 

“Save it Rosie,” he cut her off, “just shower and go to bed.”

 

“I really am sorry,” she said, backing into the kitchen area as she followed Sherlock out of the room and into the bathroom. She turned the shower on, letting it warm up while she undressed. After tossing her clothes into the hamper, she stepped into the warm water. 

 

John let out a long sigh before heading to his own room.  He threw his mobile he'd been clutching all night onto his bed and turned to see Mary. She was wearing starry pajama pants and a loose navy tee shirt, her intensely real image sitting in the corner of his bed. 

 

“She's not always going to be perfect,” Mary said. “You have to expect these kinds of things to happen eventually.”

 

John sighed. “Maybe but… I don’t know what to do. She’s never stayed out this late before without telling us. She always lets us know if she’s going to be late coming home,” he ranted to Mary as he changed into his pajamas. 

 

“I don’t think it was the boy’s fault, dear. I know you’re looking for someone to blame. Accidents happen though,” Mary said with a shrug. 

 

“Not in this family. Not with Rosie.”

 

“Well, she  _ is _ my daughter after all.” Mary smirked at him which made his heart skip a beat.

 

“That’s what scares me, Mary! She’s headstrong and she likes to think that she’s all grown up but she’s still a baby!” John went back his comforter and slid underneath the warm layer. Mary scooted over to sit closer to him.

 

“I think you should talk to her John.  _ Really _ talk to her. Don’t yell, don’t try and fill in your ideas of what happened. Listen to her side, and let her talk about how she feels.” 

 

“It’s hard to do this. Without you,” John grit his teeth, “you were always so much better with her than I was. D’you know how long it would take for Sherlock and I to get her to stop crying? All bloody night. And now she’s sixteen and she has a boyfriend and she goes places by herself...”

 

“I know you love her John, but you need to let her grow up,” Mary said soothingly. Her form blurred as John slowly fell asleep. “You need to let her become her own person. And I know it’s scary and it’s hard, but it has to happen sometime right?”

 

John could only mumble an incoherent response in his half asleep state. Right before he drifted off he could swear he felt his wife lie down in bed next to him.

 

In the next room, Sherlock couldn’t sleep. He stood in his joggers and a plain tee pacing the length of his room. He simply could not figure out why the whole parenting thing had to be so damn difficult.  _ At least you don’t have to change diapers anymore, _ he thought to himself. Rosie was basically his daughter. He loved her like one, but that also meant he worried about her as if she was his own. 

 

Deep down he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Teenagers, in general, tend to be reckless, but what bothered him is that it was the total opposite of her personality. Knowing Rosie, she would have had everything planned to the minute. Since Will, however, she had started to become a little more outgoing. Something about her affection for the young lad had led her to be more… unpredictable.  More impulsive. He wondered why, but couldn't seem to figure it out.

 

Meanwhile, Rosie had finished her shower and dressed in her pajamas.  She trotted up the steps lightly, the stairs squeaking ever so slightly under her socked feet. She entered her room, flicking the lights on and gazing around. Then she took her phone from her pocket and placed it back on top of the desk, plugging it in and putting the edge parallel with that of the table. She did a quick glance over everything before she pulled back her sheets to bury herself into her covers. But just before she was about to slip into the bed, her phone buzzed. She walked over and picked it up. There were five missed calls from her father, but the most recent notification had Billy's name at the top. She opened the messages and smiled as she read the text.

 

“I had a really great time tonight. I'm sorry for getting you home so late, I hope your parents aren't too angry.  You’re probably already to bed but since you forgot your phone I figured I'd send you some photos of the occasion. Have a good night Rosamund.”

 

Underneath the text was photos of them being the at the concert, their smiles wide. Somehow he had convinced someone to get a shot of them kissing. She didn't reply because she knew she'd be up talking with him all night if she did. Instead, she put her phone to sleep and crawled into bed, falling asleep with a smile on her face.

  
  


In the morning time, Sherlock was the first one up. He’d gotten very little sleep, and it wasn't like he was trying very hard to get rest anyways. He didn't cook anything but he did make himself a cup of tea. Mrs. Hudson would be tired from last night's excitement, probably sleeping a few extra hours. John, he knew, probably had trouble sleeping as well, most likely tossing and turning all night long. Rosie, however, he knew would sleep in late if not woken up. She was not a night owl and, as such, had trouble staying up late in the first place. Just another reason why they had been concerned about her wellbeing the night before. Now, since it was just him, he examined a case file. It was a welcomed distraction from his boredom.

 

Suddenly the door clicked open and in came a short girl with a black beanie, waves of blue hair spilling out from underneath the knitted cap. Her arms were covered in tattoos and she had a piercing on the left side of her nose. From her ears hung large silver hooped earrings and chains sat upon her neck and wrists like crown jewels. Despite the brisk fall weather, she wore a black mini skirt with fishnet stockings. Her top was made of a thin, see-through material and you had a clear view of her bra through it. She carried a leather bag extremely similar to the one Rosie had. Her boots were platformed, making her appear taller than she actually was.

 

Sherlock was unfazed by the girls sudden and early morning appearance.

 

“Hello Beth,” he said without looking up from the file.

 

“Sherlock,” she said, greeting him. She walked around the flat, peeking into the kitchen, before she walked over and threw her bag down at her feet, plopping into John's chair. Sherlock opened his mouth to object, but before he could Beth asked, “Where is everyone?”

 

“Still asleep,” Sherlock replied dryly.

 

“Late night?” she asked.

 

“More like early morning,” Sherlock said with a sigh, placing the case file down on the nearby table.

 

Beth bent down and rummaged around in her pack before pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. She opened up the box and offered it to Sherlock.

 

“I promised Rosie I wouldn't,” he said simply.

 

Her hand drooped. “You're not supposed to make pacts with Rosie,” she said, drawing the box back, taking out a cigarette, and lighting it. She took a drag and blew the smoke into the air. Sherlock instantly regretted not taking one.

 

“Why not?” he asked.

 

“Because, you'll always keep them, even if you don't want to. She just has that sort of effect on people.”

 

“She does, doesn't she,” came a voice from the doorway. John stood there, hands in his pockets, gazing at Beth harshly.

 

She tilted her head back over the chair so she was looking at him upside down.  “Ah, John! Didn't see you there,” Beth said, sitting up and taking another drag of her cigarette. She held out the box to him but he ignored it.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

 

“John,” Sherlock said warningly.  They exchanged a look.

 

“What's it look like,” she said, holding up the cigarette.

 

“You came here to smoke?” he said flatly.

 

“No, I came for breakfast. Rosie cooks breakfast on Sundays.”

 

“How do you know that?” John asked. He turned to Sherlock. “How does she know that?”

 

Beth smirked at John. “What don't I know about that girl.”

 

John sighed, stepping into the room, picking the glass ashtray off the coffee table and holding it in front of Beth. She sighed, taking one more drag of the cigarette. She blew the smoke into John's face, making him blink the smoke from his eyes, before putting it out. Then she stuck the rest between her teeth, unlit.

 

“Are you going to throw that out?”

 

“Why? It's still good,” she teased.

 

John sighed and dropped the ashtray on the side table with a clatter. “You're in my seat.”

 

The corner of Sherlock's lip twitched into a smirk, as he was going to say the very same thing when she had first sat down.

 

Beth sighed and stood up as John pulled out the client chair for her to sit in. She plopped down, moving her bag to her feet as John took his appropriate seat in the room.

“So, what happened last night?” Beth asked, clearly intrigued.

 

Sherlock and John exchanged looks. Then John cleared his throat and said, “It's none of your business.”

 

“She stayed out past curfew,” Sherlock said quickly.

 

“Sherlock!” John objected.

 

“What? I don't see the harm in telling her.  Isn't this something all teenagers do?” Sherlock argued.

 

“ROSIE BROKE THE RULES?!” Beth shouted.

 

John gave Sherlock a pointed look.

 

Sherlock bit his lip before saying, “Or… not?”

 

“That's AMAZING!” Beth said excitedly.  “I knew you raised her right,” she said, pointing at Sherlock.

“So, your best friend breaks a rule and you celebrate? You do realize this means she can't go out with any of her friends, including you,” John said.

 

“My dear Watson.  In all the time I have known your daughter she has never broken a rule.  Whenever I do try to get her to do something against your idiotic rules, and trust me I do, she refuses.  She's not just a good kid; she's  _ annoyingly  _ obedient.”

 

“Your point being?” John asked dryly.

 

“Rosie has never broken a rule in her entire life!” Beth whispered, leaning in. “ _ This _ is a  _ miracle _ !”

 

John sighed clearly annoyed. “Leave,” he said. “Please, just get out of our house.”

 

“John,” Sherlock started, but Beth was already slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading toward the door, a bounce in her step.  

 

“The day Rosie Watson broke the rules. Have to wonder where you went wrong,” she said smugly, turning to look at John.

 

He glared at her.

 

“Tell her I stopped by?” she asked him.

 

He gave a grunt of agreement.

 

“Thanks, love,” Beth said cheerily. Then she gave him a wink and slammed the door closed behind her.

 

“I don't understand why you dislike her so much,” Sherlock said, looking over at John.

 

John chuckled. “You must be joking. Sherlock, she's a bad influence. This sort of stuff, like last night, I would expect to come from a girl like that.”

 

“And yet, in all the time Beth and Rosie have known each other, Rosie hasn't once broken a rule,” Sherlock replied. “Why do you think that it?”

 

“Because Rosie is smart,” John retorted.

 

“No, because Beth has been there making all those mistakes before she could.  That makes Rosie even smarter,” Sherlock said.

 

John didn't say anything for a while. It's true that ever since he'd met Beth he'd disliked her.  The first time she slept over at their house she'd been completely wasted. The second had been the same.  The third time she'd gotten Sherlock back to smoking and the forth she almost blew up the entire house. She was careless, unpredictable, and reckless. In short, she was everything Rosie wasn't.  Despite this, he had seen the similarities between them. They liked being delirious with happiness. They liked to hang out alone on weekends without the rest of their mates. They liked leather jackets and motorbiking. They liked long road trips to the countryside and had the same taste in music. But most importantly they liked being themselves, but together. As much as Beth rubbed John the wrong way, it certainly didn't seem to be that way with Rosie.

 

Now, he felt slightly guilty for kicking Beth out.

 

Suddenly the door swung open again and there stood Rosie. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and her chestnut hair was a tangle of knots. She mumbled something inaudible as she walked into the living room. She slumped over to her chair and sat down.

 

“Guess I'm cooking breakfast,” John said.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Rosie murmured sleepily.

 

John stood up and gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead before heading toward the kitchen.  He walked into the room and poured himself a cup of tea. Normally, before Rosie, he and Sherlock would rarely use the kitchen, nevertheless eat in the flat, but now they made it a priority to eat as many meals as they could together.  Rosie was a better cook than both of them combined, but they still attempted it when she was too tired or busy.

 

He retrieved the milk and the eggs from behind Sherlock’s jar of toenails (he was studying the formation of mold) and turned to the stove. The frying pan was in the drying rack from the last time Rosie had used it. 

 

“Sherlock! Where did you put the bread?” John yelled from the kitchen, “and ask Rosie how much cinnamon to put in the french toast!!” 

 

“It’s in the spice rack, John. She always puts it back in the same place and- oh for the love of all things Rosie go help your father.” Sherlock groaned.

 

“NO! I don’t need help, I can find the damn cinnamon on my own.”

 

“Dad the rack is on the other side of the kitchen,” Rosie’s scratchy voice came from behind him. 

 

He watched as she drifted around the island and returned to her father with a jar in her hands. She sprinkled some into the bowl that John had taken out. 

 

“How much was that?” John asked peering over her shoulder.

 

“I dunno,” Rosie said as she grabbed the milk and poured it into the bowl.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

 

“I mean it just feels like it’s the right amount,” she grabbed the eggs and shoved them at her father, “crack six of these please.”

 

Dumbfounded, John stood in silence and cracked his eggs. Seemingly from thin air, Rosie put a loaf of bread on the counter and started to slice it. John placed the finished batter on the counter next to her.

 

“Do need any help?”

 

“Nope,” Rosie said.

 

“Are you-”

 

“I'm sure, dad,” she said with a sigh, glancing up at him with a slightly amused smile.

 

He put his hands up in surrender before he left her to work her kitchen magic.

 

Sherlock was stretched out on his couch with his hands clasped under his chin. John paused taking in his form before heaving a sigh.

 

“How many?”

 

“One,” said Sherlock opening his eyes. John glared, knowing he was lying, and Sherlock glanced over at him. “Three. I didn’t sleep last night.”

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought you were going to stop this?”

 

“I said I would quit smoking. And I did.”

 

“God, Sherlock- nevermind. Whatever. Rosie has breakfast almost ready,” he turned and sat at their cluttered table. 

 

Five minutes later, Rosie came out with a steaming plate of french toast. Sherlock followed closely behind with plates and silverware. They all sat down, Rosie and Sherlock sitting across from each other while John sat on the end. They passed around the French toast and settled in. After they had all eaten a sufficient amount, John cleared his throat and looked at her.

 

“So, last night,” he started, trying to heed Mary's advice and hear his daughter's side of the story.

 

Rosie swallowed thickly. “Last night,” she mumbled.

 

“Are you going to explain yourself?” John asked.

 

She looked at him and then across at Sherlock. They both looked at her expectantly.

 

“I told you, I lost track of time. I'm sorry I missed the subway stop-”

 

“That's not what he means,” Sherlock said, cutting her off.

 

Rosie looked over at Sherlock, confused. “Then what?”

 

“You could've called to say you missed the stop. You could've called to tell us to pick you up and bring you home. You could've not stopped for sandwiches, or refused to walk home eight blocks in the middle of the night, alone I might add, but you didn't.”

 

“So you're asking me…?”

 

“Why. Why in  _ God's name _ did you decide to stay out all night and forget the fact that there are people, family, waiting at home for you?”

 

“Because…” she trailed off trying to think of a reason she didn't call her father, but there was only one.  “Because he makes me feel safe.”

 

John's throat tightened.  “What?”

 

“If I was alone, no doubt I would've gone to the nearest payphone and called, but he makes me feel safe. He walked me home, and we walked together, and…” she trailed off again, a goofy smile on her face, “it was nice.”

 

“He walked you home,” John said.

 

Rosie nodded.

 

“Oh, well that's…” John cleared his throat, “that was very nice of him.”

 

Sherlock and Rosie looked over at him, surprised, but John knew how out of the way their flat was from William's house. It was certainly farther than eight blocks.

 

“But that doesn't excuse you.  We were worried about you. That's not okay.”

 

Rosie nodded.

 

“You’re grounded. No going out and no extra activities for the next two weeks,” John said.

 

“ _ Two _ -”

 

“You heard me!” he said firmly.  “We can go for a month if you'd like.”

 

Rosie closed her mouth.

 

Sherlock had been unusually quiet during the conversation.  If there was one part of parenting he would never get used to it was the punishment.  Rosie was smart enough to not make the same mistake twice, she certainly didn't have to be disciplined, but John insisted this was how it was done. As such, he let him do whatever he saw fit.

 

They finished breakfast and Rosie quickly cleaned the dishes and placed them in the drying rack. Next to the rack sat a brown paper bag with a smiley face in black marker, which she grabbed as she headed upstairs to get dressed. She quickly changed into some cuffed jeans and a white tee-shirt before putting on a navy blue windbreaker. She wore white tube socks with some white converse, which she laced quickly. Then she tucked the bag into one of the pockets in her coat before heading back downstairs. She opened the flat door to see her parents, Sherlock in his chair and John pacing, probably just discussing another case file as indicated by the manila folder in Sherlock's lap. They looked up at her expectantly. It seemed they always knew when she had something to say.

  
"We ran out of milk, I'm gonna go grab some," Rosie said, grabbing her leather bag from where she'd dropped it the night before and shouldering it.  

 

She opened the door and began to step out before John grabbed the back of her bag and pulled her around to face him. "Oh no, you won't."  
  
"Dad, I won't be gone five minutes," Rosie said. "I'm just going to the corner."  
  
John raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms. "So you won't lose track of time?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
Rosie glared up at him.  
  
"Do you have your-"  
  
She held up her phone before he could finish his sentence.  
  
He nodded and then turned to Sherlock, who'd now stood up and drifted toward the window, pulling back the curtain to look out. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think a quick run to the corner store ought to start rebuilding some trust," Sherlock said absentmindedly, looking out the window.  Below he could see Beth, standing on the corner, probably waiting for Rosie, but he chose not to mention this to John.  
  
John nodded and looked at her one last time.  Then he glanced down at his watch before looking back up at her and saying, "Five minutes."

 

Rosie nodded before bolting out the door and bounding down the steps.

 

John now stared at the empty doorway before letting out a long sigh, head dropping to his chest.  “Should I worry about her?”

 

“It's just five minutes, John,” Sherlock said.

 

“Always,” came another voice.

 

John glanced over to see Mary leaning against the window. This time she was wearing jeans and a blue overcoat. She gave him a reassuring smile.

 

“Right,” he said.  He walked over to his chair and sat down, rubbing his eyes with his hands.  When he looked up again she was gone. Apparently, nothing more had to be said.

 

Rosie reached the bottom of the steps and flew out 221B Baker Street and into the crisp fall air.  She took a deep breath before looking over at Beth, who was leaning against a lampost.

 

“Took you long enough,” Beth said with a smirk.

 

“Sorry,” Rosie said sympathetically.

 

“Did you bring it?” Beth asked in anticipation as they began walking down the block.

 

“Yeah,” Rosie said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the brown paper bag. “Here.”

 

Beth beamed, unfurling the bag and pulling out a piece of French toast. “You are a saint, Rosamund Mary,” she said, her mouth full.

 

Rosie chuckled, turning the corner. “I don't know about that.”

 

Beth swallowed and tapped her arm lightly. “So how was your night out?” she asked curiously.

 

“It was nice,” Rosie said with a smile.

“What did you guys do?” Beth asked, taking another bite of her French toast.

 

“I told you, we went to a concert.”

 

“No, but like,” Beth said, gesturing for her to elaborate, “what did you  _ do _ ?”

 

Rosie looked over at her quizzically.

 

“Ya know, you go to a concert to smoke, and yell really loud, and...” Beth paused trying to think of the last concert she went to, “smash bottles over people's heads.”

 

“You're joking,” Rosie laughed.

 

“No I'm serious, completely,” Beth said with a smile.

 

“No, nothing like that.”

 

There was a pause as they stopped in front of the corner store before pushing open the door.  The bell chimed brightly and they headed through the linoleum aisles toward the refrigerated section.

 

“What happened to our Saturday nights together?” asked Beth as Rosie opened the door to the milk. “We used to go out all the time, and you would babysit me while I made dumb decisions and got wasted. Now it's… you and Bill,” she said with disgust.

 

Rosie chuckled grabbing the 4 pints of milk, “What's your problem with William?”

 

Beth shrugged, finishing up her first piece of toast. “We just never do anything, just the two of us, anymore. It's like I'm being replaced with  _ Bill _ .”

  
Rosie let the glass door swing shut. “Hey, that's never gonna happen, believe me,” she said.

 

“How do you know for sure?” Beth asked. 

 

“Because I'm not that kind of person and you know it,” Rosie said.

 

Beth bit her lip. “You should get a tattoo,” she said suddenly.

 

“What?” Rosie said through giggles, pushing past Beth toward the register. “No way, my dad would kill me.”

 

“Which one,” Beth asked.

 

Rosie looked back at Beth pointedly, placing her milk down on the counter. Beth leaned on the counter, placing her elbows on the marble top and crossing her arms.

 

“Right, dumb question,” she said with a sigh.

 

The cashier, a young man with red hair, rang her up, scanning the barcode on the milk.

 

“Hey, can I have a pack of smokes,” Beth said to him, pointing behind him at the shelf.

 

Rosie raised her eyebrows at Beth who shrugged. “What? Gonna run out eventually.”

 

The man turned and grabbed a pack, scanning it.

 

“Eleven sixty-one,” he said.

 

“On you?” Beth asked Rosie.

 

Rosie rolled her eyes before pulling out her wallet and paying the man. She handed the pack to Beth, who stuffed it in her pocket, and grabbed the milk. Then they headed back out the door, the bell chiming on their way out.

 

Beth pulled out a cigarette and lit it as soon as they were out the door.

 

“You shouldn't smoke,” Rosie said absently, knowing that it was useless.

 

Beth hummed in acknowledgment, blowing the smoke into the brisk autumn air. “You're just as annoying as John.”

 

“And you’re just as addicted as Sherlock,” she said, grabbing the cigarette from Beth and putting it to her lips.

 

Beth looked at her, shocked, as they walked down the sidewalk. “What the hell has gotten into you? You stayed out past curfew, you're  _ smoking _ …” 

 

Rosie handed the cigarette back to Beth with a smile. “Wasn't my first, shan't be my last.”

 

“You are incredibly hot right now,” Beth murmured.

 

Rosie let out a laugh before they reached the green door that was 221B.  

 

“I'll call you,” Rosie said, pulling open the door and heading inside.

 

“You better,” Beth said with a final smirk before Rosie closed the door behind her.  Beth turned on her heel, most likely headed to a smoke shop to meet up with some of her mates, probably to play some backroom poker.

 

Rosie headed back up the stairs and flung the door open to the flat.

 

“You're late,” Sherlock said without looking up.

 

“By how much,” Rosie asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Forty-five seconds,” he replied.

 

“Sorry, the cashier wanted exact change,” Rosie said, dropping her bag at the foot of the doorframe.

 

“You've gotten very good at that,” John said, entering the room from the kitchen, fixing the cuff of his shirt. He'd gotten dressed while she was gone.

 

“Good at what?” Rosie asked, eyes narrowing.

 

John sighed, arms dropping to his sides as he walked toward his seat. “Lying.”

 

Rosie didn't say anything, biting the inside of her cheek so she didn't say something else stupid.

 

“He's right,” Sherlock said. “I almost didn't notice.”

 

“You weren't even looking at me,” Rosie complained, raising her arms up in an annoyed gesture.

“Exactly,” Sherlock said.

 

She groaned before walking over to the refrigerator and putting the milk in it's appropriate spot on the shelf. Then she walked over to her chair and slumped down in it, bored and annoyed with her parents. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started tapping out a text.

 

“Who’re you talking to?” Sherlock asked.

 

“You’re smart,” Rosie huffed, “figure it out.”

 

“Tone, young lady,” John snapped.

 

Sherlock glared across at her and said, “I already know, I just want to hear you say it.”

 

Rosie glared back at him.

 

“And please do sit up,” he added, eyes narrowing snidely. 

 

“Can't I just get one damn minute without you two pestering me? It's exhausting!” she said, standing up and marching toward the door.

 

John grabbed her arm before she could storm out, pulling her back into the room. She looked up at him, clearly frustrated at this new development her fathers suddenly had on her privacy.

“Let's go on a walk, shall we?” he said. It wasn't a request. “Sherlock, stay here.”

 

John grabbed his coat and Rosie's arm, pulling her down the stairs and out of the flat once again. They walked into the brisk autumn wind, John pulling on his coat as he let go of Rosie's arm.

 

“The phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

 

She cocked her head as if to say,  _ Really? _

 

He curled his fingers and opened them again, gesturing for her to do as he said.

 

She groaned and slapped the mobile into his open palm.

“Thank you,” he said, pocketing it and starting to walk down the block, in the opposite direction she had traveled that morning.  She followed a few steps behind, not really looking forward to the conversation they were about to have.

 

“Right then young lady. I don’t like the way you've been acting recently. This,” he shook her phone on his hand, “stays with me until you change something.”

 

“I thought the whole point of this was for me to have my phone so I didn’t come home two and a half hours late again?” Rosie quipped.

 

“Don’t test me right now Rosamund, do not,” John took a deep breath, “you are disrespecting me and you are disrespecting Sherlock, and neither of us appreciates it. What has been going on with you lately? Because the only things I see that have changed are William and Beth. Is it Beth? I thought you smelled like smoke when you came inside.” 

 

John watched as Rosie shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked down at the pavement.

 

“Dad, what did you do?” Rosie looked up at him. “What would you do when you were my age that made your parents mad?”

 

Shocked, John took a minute before he answered the question. “Well,” he paused, giving a small sigh before continuing, “I used to drink. With Harry. My parents would take away my allowance and wouldn't let me out of their sight for a month when they found out, but that doesn’t help us here.” 

 

“Of course it does. I’m willing to bet that you didn’t think that was fair. Well neither do I, and I know you don’t care what I say, but it really was a mistake! Will got to the door, so I rushed out and forgot my phone. We were hungry after and thought we had time so we went for a bite. I just don’t understand why the two of you are freaking out over the fact that I’m being a normal teenage girl for once!  I do have a life outside of just you and Sherlock.” 

 

Rosie hadn’t realized how much her voice had risen in anger. Had there been more people around, John would have yelled at her for causing a scene, but then again this was London. There was always a scene somewhere.

 

She sighed. “William's a great guy, and I know you're my dad and you're supposed to get overprotective and stuff, but he's actually really great. I think if you got to know him you two would really get along. Just… try for me please?”

 

John was astounded at how mature Rosie sounded. He took in his daughter's form, looking at her,  _ really _ looking, for the first time in a long time. She'd grown quite a bit in the past few months, topping off at a few more inches. She'd grown up right before his eyes, it seemed like only yesterday she was small enough to hold in his arms.

 

He sighed, finally giving in. “Rosie,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it’s not the boy I have a problem with. In my life, I have seen horrible, terrible things happen to careless and reckless people. I have seen innocent men,  _ good  _ men, die too young and too violently. I couldn’t see that happen to you, and if that means I have to try and keep you by my side until I die then so be it. I just want to keep you safe Rosie. That’s all.”

 

“You can't protect me forever,” she said.

 

“I can try,” John replied firmly.

 

There was a pause as Rosie thought about what she was to say next. A million responses raced through her head, but she didn't know which one to go with.

 

“Dad?” she said finally, as they continued their walk.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Did you really used to drink?”

 

John's serious expression turned into a bright smile as he let out a laugh. “You can thank your aunt for that next time you see her.”

 

Rosie laughed, thinking of what her Aunt Harriet would have been like in her teen years. She couldn't help but think of her being like Beth.

 

“Sorry I smoked,” she said to her father as trotted down the sidewalk.

 

“Just don't make a habit out of it,” John said. “It will turn into a three patch problem.”

 

They laughed again before John stopped in front of his daughter, turning to face her. He pulled her into a gentle hug, her head burying itself into his shoulder as he placed a hand on the back of her neck.

 

“I love you,” he said.

 

“I love you too,” she mumbled, her voice muffled through her father's jacket.

 

John looked over the top of his daughter's head to see Mary leaning against a lamp post, looking on fondly.

 

“Should've done that earlier,” she said, eyebrows raised judgingly. “I would've hugged her as soon as she'd gotten home last night.”

John ignored her, releasing his daughter from his hug and looking down at her. “Here,” he said, handing the phone back over to her.

 

“Really?” 

“I know you want to be with him, and since your stuck in the flat, I suppose you should at least be allowed to talk to him.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a quick hug before walking back down the street toward the flat. John watched her go before she turned to see if he was following. “You coming?”

 

“I'll catch up, I want to… enjoy the fresh air,” he said.  

 

He didn't actually though, and she knew it. But she only raised her eyebrows questioningly before letting it go, running back into 221B Baker Street, flinging open the door and stepping into the flat.

 

“Interesting choice,” Mary said. She had reappeared standing beside him.

 

“Well, I just… don't want to be too hard on her. It  _ was _ an accident.”

 

“Still, a surprising move for you.”

 

“Well, got to start trusting her again sometime.”

 

“You never stopped,” she said.  “All parents get worried, John. All parents get scared. You’re just inclined to danger more than others. You know what's out there in the world.”

“Do I now?” John asked.

 

“Better than most. But you also know that 'safe’ is a relative term, and no one is ever really safe.”

 

“No, safe is with me and Sherlock.  Safe is knowing where she is and where she is going to be at all times.  _ That's _ safe.”

 

“Ah yes, the daughter of the two most famous detectives in London… because no killer would ever think  _ she _ would be your weak spot,” Mary said sarcastically.

 

John turned to look at her, surprise and fear in his eyes, but she was gone again.

 

“Damnit,” he muttered, looking around as if she'd walked off, but she had disappeared. He gave a sigh before turning back to follow Rosie back into the flat.

 

When John opened the door into the flat, Sherlock stood before him, gazing broodingly out the window. Rosie sat in her chair, her phone tucked away into her back pocket, gazing over a few pieces of paper.

 

“What's that?” John asked, taking off his coat and hanging it up.

 

“Sheet music,” she replied, without looking up.

 

“She's seeing if it's any good,” Sherlock added, turning toward John.

 

“What are you talking about, your compositions are always good,” John said.

 

“Not true. Rosie has a better eye than I do,” Sherlock said.

 

“Doesn't mean you aren't good, just means she's better,” John commented with a sly smirk.

 

Sherlock glared at John, not because he was wrong, but because he was right, and they both knew it.  Sherlock had taught her everything she knew and she had learned even more. He was an excellent composer, knowing the ins and outs of music theory and memorized harmonics like the back of his had, but the way Rosie composed was beautiful. She played with such emotion, such passion, that she could make a single note change the dynamic and feeling behind the entire piece.

 

“Anything Rosie?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Um, yeah actually,” Rosie said, standing up to show Sherlock. She handed him the piece and pointed at a few measures.  “If you change the key here to a minor, then you can make it very dynamic and you'll be able to hear the emotion.”

 

“An unpredictable change in key. Fascinating,” Sherlock whispered.

 

Suddenly his phone buzzed and Sherlock stepped back from Rosie and back toward the window, mumbling, “Excuse me,” before picking it up. “Ah, Detective, please tell me you have good news.”

 

John and Rosie exchanged looks, knowing “good” really meant “gruesome”. Mumbling came from the other end before a twinge of a smile danced across Sherlock's lips.

 

“That's perfect. We'll be there right away.” Sherlock ended the call and whirled toward John with a smile.  “Are you up for a case?”

 

“Oh God, yes,” John said.

 

They began to gather their things, John tucking his gun into his belt, and Sherlock wrapping his scarf around his neck.  Both grabbed their overcoats.

 

“Can I come?” Rosie asked with an innocent smile.

 

“No!” they said in unison.

 

“You stay here until we get back,” John ordered. “Mrs. Hudson will keep watch, and if you even think about leaving-” 

 

“Got it,” Rosie said.  “Just… be careful?”

 

“We will,” Sherlock said softly, putting a hand on the back of her head and pulling her forehead to his lips, planting a kiss softly on her skin. She closed her eyes, giving a small satisfied smile. Then he backed away so that John could give her a hug, also planting a kiss on her chestnut curls, right above her right ear.

 

“Love you,” he said before he and Sherlock left, the door closing behind them.

 

“Love you too,” she whispered into the empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, we hope you enjoyed it! New chapters will come out every so often so stay tuned!


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